


Balanced

by leo_lullaby



Series: Brie's Late Night Sam Drabbles [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Caring Dean, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Sam Winchester and Mental Health Issues, Slight spoilers, Suicidal Sam, Suicidal Thoughts, That is a real tag why, Worried Dean, be careful, spn s04e22, this is like dark yall, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 01:41:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4768796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leo_lullaby/pseuds/leo_lullaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after season 4 finale "Lucifer Rising"<br/>A slightly different route Sam could have taken. He feels guilty about his actions and just wants to save Dean from more trouble and pain. Sam is at the end of his rope and just wants Dean to understand. The two of them have always been such perfect opposites...</p><p>Seriously ya'll, read the warnings. If you get triggered, DO. NOT. READ. This is my tired, wound-up brain letting off steam, the last thing I want is to hurt someone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balanced

Dean said he would hunt him. Sam crossed a line. He was a monster now. He did not deserve to be human. He _needed_ to be hunted down. But how could he make Dean, his flesh and blood, his brother- _mother_ - ** _father_** , do something like that? No, that would just be cruel, it would not just hurt Dean, it would _destroy_ him. 

People always said the two of them fit well together. They complement each other. They 'complete' each other, if it had to be put on a Hallmark card. Dean is the selfless soldier to combat Sam’s rebel martyrdom. Dean is the one already saying yes and halfway out the door while Sam is staying rooted to the spot with the word ‘no’ tainting his lips. Dean is the one who patches everything and everyone together nice and neat with rows of stitches and gauze, Sam is the one who tears everything apart in the first place and draws blood. Dean is the practically self-appointed guardian and Sam is his little brother. Dean’s job is to protect Sam… it always has been, to watch out for him, to keep him alive.

But then Dean was gone.

And Sam broke.

He tried to get his brother back. Lord-Hell-God- _whatever-the-correct-explanative-is-anymore_ knows…he tried. But that only helps so much. Actually, it did nothing… it _does_ nothing.

Dean was gone- _killed-_ Sam has to correct himself- because of him. Because he was weak. Because he didn’t have the guts to kill, like Dean would have without another thought. No, he had to fight this monstrous nature festering in his bones and try to take the high road. Spare a life. That ended well. He got himself stabbed because he turned his back. Because he quit early. Because he gave up. And then he died, making Dean feel like he failed more than anything. He made Dean feel guilty enough to put his own damn soul on the market like a bargaining chip.

All because Sam just had to try and be like Dean and be the hero rather than just follow his poisonous, engrained, _evil_ programming.

And dying like that, so sudden, literally with his back turned… it was so unexpected.

Sam had no time to prepare for that. He had no closure. He always thought he would have _something_ for some kind of... final say. Some dying words or _something._ He is glad he got his brother’s name out if nothing else before the actual stabbing. He owed Dean that much, actually he still owes him so much more, but it was a start. He just wished he had more time to plan.

Oh sure, Sam knew he was a freak, a monster that needed to just be _put down._  He had to bite that bullet and accept it early on. That much was always clear for him, even before the freaky ‘chosen children’ showdown. Hell, he still is a freak to this day. A 'whole new level.' And it cost him.

He knew he would have to be put down somehow, dad always said so, but he never thought it would happen like _that._ That way hurt Dean. Led to his brother’s damn _death._  It was the _exact opposite_ of what should have happened. 

And of course Dean was willing. He was Sam’s protector, at all costs, and still considers himself to be. He would do anything for his little Sammy’s _precious_ life. It makes Sam nauseous with grief and dizzy with undeserving love even now.

But it was too late at Cold Oak. He took his last breath in his brother’s arms and thought sure, even though he wanted to check out on his own terms with Dean understanding why, at least the task would get done.

But no.

He didn’t get to explain anything because up until then he kept his mouth shut for too long. So a few days later Sam took another breath that felt like acid in his lungs. And Dean went to hell.

So Sam broke.

The balanced scale the two of them make together dipped into the negative with Sam weighing it down. It broke. He broke. He tried to fix it. No one wanted to hear it. He couldn’t explain because _no one was listening_. Again, he had no voice in the matter because he is too damn sorry too damn late.  _He_ was supposed to be the one dragged down under with the demon DNA coursing and burning in his veins finally satisfied.

Not Dean.

Never Dean.

But then he was gone. Sam’s guardian, protector, and balanced opposite was gone to the worst fate possible, the one _destined for Sam dammit_ , because he was a coward and couldn’t buck up and get the job done right on his own.

And then why the hell not add demon blood to the mix?

The scale was broken already, might as well obliterate it and inject the evil into himself directly. Save everyone some trouble. Sam understands now what it means to have ‘tunnel-vision’ for a task. Demon blood was all he could focus on. Fuel the fire inside him. Fuel the weird psychic shit that started all of this in the first place. Maybe if he just kept pounding at the broken scale with all of his evil he was destined for, he would finally work himself into the ground. For good this time.

He lost Dean because he fought his evil nature, because he wanted to be like his brother, he wanted to be a hero.

But he is no hero.

Might as well go the complete 180 and live up to it for as long as he can. Lord knows he deserves to just keep drowning and burning until he is finally _done._ Maybe he could finally go full demon and bust his brother out to return his selfless guardian topside where he belongs. But again, he was too damn late.

Sam chuckles weakly at the warm fire under and against his skin and shakes his head at the irony.

He wanted to go full dark-side and somehow repay his brother. But he cannot use the word ‘save,’ that sounds too heroic. No, he had a debt to settle and a scale to fix and tilt to the positive side until there was no more to give.

And an angel saved his brother.

Sam snorts pitifully at the knife in his shaking hands.

He tried to get out of that crap with Ruby. He didn't want her, he wanted a way to fix it all. Dammit, he just wanted to get to his brother somehow and get him out where he belongs. Trade places, like it should have always been. Ruby promised. And of course he fell for it. He was broken. Dean always was the smart one, and Sam has to keep the scale balanced.

And an angel brings his brother up.

Sam was too far deep already to come back out. He knew that he would never get Dean’s forgiveness for willingly turning dark. He hated this obligation Dean felt to save him, the guy already had enough crap to deal with, and he did not need a psychotic _demonic_ little brother weighing him down.

Dean was topside because of an angel. Sam knew he had to go under because of a demon.

He had time to prepare this time though. That is always helpful. He went to that covenant knowing full well he was going under and there was no going back. He wanted to make amends of some kind with Dean, but after the voicemail… It was better for Sam to go quietly and for once make the right choice and just let his actions speak louder than his words.

He hated Lilith with everything in him. He liked the power the blood gave him. Ruby said go for it. Lilith seemed to comply well enough. His body was aching for the surge of destruction that must be engraved deep inside him. Dean didn’t say not to. So he went in the covenant and went all in.

He didn’t expect to come out.

Dean came and got him out.

Again.

Sam should have explained better, he supposes now in hindsight, he just thought the two of them were on the same page after the call. It seemed like it. Both of them knew what Sam really was, knew he had to be put down, knew there was no going back this time. At least that is what Sam thought they agreed on. He was too afraid to speak up and get confirmation.

Again.

He was a coward.

Again.

Well, he supposes now, he had to balance out Dean’s heroism somehow. Everything between them always cancels out eventually.

Sam let the big bad free. Dean started breaking the seals without knowing, it was only logical for Sam to finish the job with a vigor burning in him. They complement each other, right?

So now, sitting miles away from the destroyed covenant in the bathroom of some motel as far away from Dean as he could manage with shaking hands and getting sick on the side of the road, Sam will complement Dean as best he can…

...like he always does.

Dean had grabbed onto him when the devil started to rise. The light made both of them wince and cower back. Sam could feel Dean’s hands fisted into his jacket. It felt… real… grounding… it felt safe and stable.

And then the ground started shaking and the building crumbled.

The two brothers retreated, or rather, Dean pulled Sam away to once again protect him, and the younger brother used a large piece of falling plaster crashing down towards them as an excuse to push his brother away.

He can still see the look Dean gave him behind his eyelids. His brother looked afraid and angry at the loss of contact, then understanding as the heavy chunk hit the ground where they were just standing, then fearful and protective. Sam had to turn away. He thought the inner burn of the demon blood in his veins was bad, but nothing compares to the compassionate look of Dean Winchester he does not deserve.

His brother always was a hero.

And he was and will be a coward.

So he ran.

Sam turned and ran to Ruby’s stolen car and drove. He could see Dean getting out of the building in his rear-view mirror, and that settled the last nerve in his chest. He doubted the angels would let Dean get hurt because of him anymore regardless. With Dean safe and the devil topside because of him, Sam drove.

Between driving double digits over the speed limit and rough stops along the side of the road to cough up blood and bile, he made it to some small town tucked away in some state. He did not have the mental capacity to check.

He got what he needed. So now, just enough past buzzed to keep him alert and shaking like a leaf, sitting tucked into the corner of an old motel bathroom between the wall and he sink, blood staining his clothes and his nose and his hands and his lips and his heart, he can think.

He could try to explain to Dean. Maybe that would actually help for once. He already tried to call. The phone sitting on the stained tile by his boot is evidence of that. He never actually dialed... but he wanted to. Maybe for once he could do this right and get Dean to understand why he should be put down for good.

But he always was a coward.

The blood is everywhere, but Sam could care less. He wonders what is his and what isn’t. What is human and what is demon? He can’t tell if it looks different at all. His vision is fuzzy, so it all just looks _red._

Buzzing makes his head weakly leaning back against the bathroom wall shift. His hair rubs between his pounding skull and the cracking wall. He has to blink a few times to get past the fuzz of blood-loss and the haze of alcohol keeping the pain ignorable. Sam’s face scrunches slightly and he narrows his eyes at the small screen lighting up in front of his crossed legs.

The small phone vibrates and jitters across the bleached tile in a stream of red. Sam has to shift his head up with a wince and tilt his head to read the caller ID.

Dean.

Always the hero.

A small smile tugs at the side of Sam’s lip and a tiny drunken smile pulls his mouth. Alright, he could do this. He could actually explain for once. He could try to not be a coward.

The buzzing stops.

Sam feels something like tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

His head is spinning and he lets himself slump back against the wall once more. The phone beeps. He glances at it. Ten missed calls. When did that happen…?

The phone buzzes and spins in slippery red circles. Sam lets his hand fall forward from his lap. His numbing, shaky fingers nudge the small device. They refuse to actually work and grasp the phone. He is too busy finger-painting red everywhere to get the strength to move his hand correctly. He bites his lip, drawing more red out, and forces himself to move and press the correct button.

Pain shoots up his hand and the lines in his arms weeping scarlet.

The phone beeps once as the speaker button is hit after the green ‘call accepted’ flashes.

“…’llo?” Sam does not recognize his voice. It is so broken, raspy, coppery.

 _“Sam? Did I finally get you? SAM?!”_ Dean’s fuzzy voice yells through the phone.

“De…” Sam smiles bright red and lets his temple rest against the sink beside him, “…gotta… tell you som’thin’…”

 _“Sammy, listen I am almost there, and then we are having a talk little brother. Dammit Sam! I had to have Bobby track your goddamn phone, how fast were you driving, you bitch? What the hell kind of stunt was that back_ _there?_ _”_

Sam scoffs and coughs up more scarlet to drip down his chin and onto his shirt and meet the rest of it staining and oozing from his arms.

“J…” Sam turns his head to spit weakly and wheeze in a breath, “Jerk.”

_“Sammy what did you do, man?”_

Sam’s eyebrows knit together and he spits out more scarlet.

“T-Thought… you knew. Always w’s… always w’s a demon… Dean… had’ta… had… ta…”

 _“Sam,”_ Dean’s voice snaps and Sam automatically blinks owlishly and closes his mouth, _“Don’t say that. Not right now. Not to me. Not_ ever _dammit, now tell me what is going on.”_

Sam’s head is full of cotton and slow and his forehead wrinkles in thought.

“’M… ‘m doin’ the right thing… Huntin’… huntin’ a monster…”

Sam lets out a garbled giggle as a result of the alcohol still firing through his system over the burning sensation hitting every nerve. He can finally explain. He can get Dean to see, and then he can finally be done. He hears Dean’s tinny voice swear across the phone.

 _“Sam you sound drunk, did you seriously just go get_ wasted _?! That was your big move?”_

Sam scoffs and sputters up more red to stain his lips, shaking his head.

“N-No… y-y… a little… needed to… stay ‘wake… need’d to’be numb…” Sam feels his eyes take a slow blink and close a few seconds longer than necessary, “…had’ta hunt… Dean… jus’ like ya… said. Now youdonhavta… don’ hav’ta do… it…”

His speech is slurring even more as his head lolls to the side until his forehead rests against the sink.

_“Do what Sam? What the hell are you talking about?”_

Sam can tell by the higher pitch of Dean’s voice that his brother is nervous and probably looking around anxiously as he drives, phone pressed tight to his ear, eyes scanning the road when he wants to but mostly looking for a motel matching the name circling in his head. It makes Sam smile weakly.

"Y’free… Dean… I-I took care’f it… finally… we, we’re even…”

 _“Sam, don’t you say any of that shit to me. You’re bleedin’ aren’t you?_ Dammit _, I can hear it in your voice.”_

Sam grins a little wider, the porcelain sink feels nice against his feverish freezing skin.

“Always… takin’ care’f me… De’n…” Sam shakes his head weakly, “…y’gotta know… y’didn’haveta… _ever…_ ‘m… ‘m sorry you did…”

Sam feels the heat starting to sting his eyes now. His skin is slick with sweat and blood and he is so damn tired.

_“Now Sammy, you listen to me, and you listen good, you understand me? You stay awake, dammit.”_

Sam’s lips part and a strained whisper leaves his throat. He swallows, a dry click coated with copper, and coughs up more red liquid rust to drip out of the corner of his mouth.

 _“Sam, answer me!”_ Dean’s voice hits his ear like thunder.

Sam blinks weakly and automatically tries to sit up a little straighter.

 _“I will be there in five minutes, tops, and then we will fix this, alright? Together we can fix whatever this is, understand? But don’t you_ dare _check out on me and apologize like that.”_

A new hot liquid slides against his skin. Sam feels his eyes heating up as he cries silently. He doesn’t deserve to cry like this. He is finally getting what he wants... no, he doesn’t _want_ this. But he deserves it. Dean needs to be weightless, needs to be free. If that means he is consequentially heavy and trapped, so be it.

He will crash soon and burn, he expects no less after what all has done and what he simply _is_  inside.

“…’m… ‘m sorry, De’n… I can… can do it right … t-this time… I promise… ‘s j-just… a hunt… right?” Sam asks, his voice fading more and more with each slurred word.

The sound of screeching tires barely registers over his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“…jus’ ‘nother monst’r… t-to put down…” Sam mutters almost silently.

The sound of the door slamming open barely makes him jump. Rushed footsteps approach the bathroom door. Pounding makes the wood shudder in its frame.

“…one more… demon… goin’ home.”

Sam is not sure he is actually speaking anymore, his tongue is too thick and dry in his cracked mouth and everything is _red._

Then he sees green. It is safe, secure, close, _home._ But this is a much better home than the one he deserves. He smiles weakly as the last thing he sees before the darkness is the green he knows so well.

It complements his red.

* * *

 

Chemicals. Bleach. It is all too sterile and stings Sam’s nose. His face wrinkles slightly in reaction. He squeezes his eyes shut, liking the small pinpoints of fuzzy pain, before allowing himself to peek through heavy eyelids.

White. Too bright. He would say this is heaven, but he knows he would not end up there, and it is too uncomfortable to be heaven. His eyes adjust a little more and he sees florescent lights above him. His eyelids flutter all the way open.

Beeping. Not vibrating. His heart, it’s still working. _Dammit,_ he thought maybe it would work this time. Unless… he succeeded and Dean…

Sam quickly whips his head around the room, trying to blindly make out all of the details. He cannot move as much as he wants to. He tugs at his wrists, they are shackled to the bedrails. Thick, white bandages hug his forearms snugly. Hospital. No, no, _no…_

Dean is sitting in a chair pulled up close to him, asleep with his chin against his chest but by no means in a peaceful rest. There are worry lines etched into his face and his posture is still vaguely tense.

Dean is here. He is breathing. Sam’s breath catches in his throat. That means nothing. What if he succeeded and Dean dealt his soul out again? Castiel wouldn’t let him… right? He wouldn’t let Dean do that… Oh, _God…_

Sam jerks at his wrist restraints, biting through his lip to ignore the pain shooting through his forearms. He can’t let Dean do this. Not again. His brother already went to hell once when he never should have, _Sam_ should have, he should be there _now,_ but he failed again, _dammit,_ he knew it would never be that easy, Dean had to hunt him down himself, feels too wrongly obligated to turn away, Sam should not be alive he needs to get out and-

“Sammy, I need you to listen to me,” Dean’s surprisingly calm voice shoots straight through Sam’s clenching chest.

Sam can now feel Dean’s hands on his shoulders, gentle and firm. Stable. _Home._ But not the home Sam deserves. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head violently. He just needs to go to the literal hellhole destined for him to rot in. He needs to even out the scale between them again. He needs to make this right. He has done so much _bad_ already…

“Sammy, listen, you are not ‘bad’ alright?" Dean’s voice cuts through his thoughts and the low, rough whispering that must be coming from his own tight lips.

A calloused hand reaches to hold the back of his neck in a supportive gesture. Sam shakes his head again. His chest is not big enough to breathe and he shouldn’t be anyways.

“Look at me, Sam.” Dean instructs, his voice deep and collected.

Sam throws his head side-to-side once more, squeezing his eyes shut until it hurts and making it impossible for him to cry.

“‘m sorry, ‘m sorry…” He mutters brokenly.

Rustling and clattering of what sounds like some kind of metal reaches his ears and he automatically cringes. He finds he can move his wrists and balls his hands into tight fists. Before he can shift anymore, strong arms suddenly envelop him. Sam tenses and freezes. This is bad he is so _tainted,_ he’s a monster and needs… needs…

A muffled cry escapes his mouth and he scrabbles to grab fistfuls of Dean’s jacket in his weakened hands, pressing his forehead against Dean’s shoulder. He feels Dean take a deep breath and squeeze tighter.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Dean mutters into the fabric of Sam’s hospital gown covering his shoulder.

Sam bites back another cry and instead releases a low whine and shuddering exhale.

“You’re _good,_ Sam, you’ve got to see that, man. I shouldn't have given you the cold shoulder so much. I mean yeah, you’ve made some shit choices, but I have too. Stop saying you are my damn  _burden,_ Sam. You’re my brother.”

Sam sniffles weakly and lets his head rest against Dean’s broad shoulder. They are sitting in the same fashion. He slows and matches his breathing to be the same as Dean’s. He tries to find the delicate balance between them again. The scale is broken and bent, but it is working again.

Sam releases a small shuddering sigh and squeezes his brother back with the same strength. His hands are weak, but it doesn’t matter. They are equal enough. Inside, they are polar opposites, but right now they are…

Equal enough.

This is safe. The scale is by no means unwavering and perfect, but it is working again. This is good.

“Sammy I’m always going to be here to help fix it, no matter how much time or effort.”

This is home.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I needed some bromance feels.  
> Feedback makes the world go round! Let me know if you have any suggestions/thoughts/possible future prompts <3


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